Dirty Water
by Rachel-Jane Kensington
Summary: I made a promise to my Uncle, to my family and to myself. I would never get involved with anyone that worked for Frank. But sometimes you just can't help getting your hands dirty...Billy/OFC, slightly AU. Rated M for violence, drugs, sex, adult content.
1. Promises, Promises

**A/N:** I know, I know. I'm a terribly person for posting this when I've got so much other stuff that needs attention. But I can't help it! I just love this story so much lol Besides, this fandom is so small...it needs some lovin' lol. So, here goes. Hope you like it! BTW- THE REST OF THE STORY IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE PROLOGUE, I SWEAR. Please believe me lol

**Prologue: Promises, Promises **

_I'm a-wishin' and a hopin' that these doors weren't locked  
Oh, I love that dirty water, Boston you're my home_

_- 'Dirty Water' by the Standells_

Frank Costello was the most amazing uncle anyone could ask for. He was funny as hell and always bringing me unbelievable gifts when he dropped by. He loved to get drunk with my parents and brought plenty of alcohol with him whenever we had him over for dinner. He was also a great person to talk to when I was in a bind and had always been very candid with me about how the world worked. He paid for my dance classes and was also funding most of my college expenses. Oh yeah, and he was the ringleader of the Boston mob scene. That part was alright too.

"So, I've been in college for what, two years now?"

"Well, I'm glad they've taught you to keep track of time. That puts me at complete ease about the thousands of dollars I'm pouring into your education."

I just grinned. He was always like this and I wasn't just used to it. I loved it.

"Well, being out in the real world's made me think a lot…about the 'M' word…"

Uncle Frank glanced over his menu at me and over the silver rim of his reading glasses for just a moment before turning his gaze on the Grilled section. We were at Applebee's getting some dinner after a whole afternoon of watching Red Sox spring training.

"I've been telling your parents to send you to military school for years." he responded shortly, casually.

I gave him a wry smirk, "Oh, ha ha. Very funny. I meant marriage."

Again with the glancing over the menu. I could tell he was the slightest bit worried about the sudden presence of this topic on my tongue. But my uncle was terribly good at hiding his emotions, so I didn't even see fear in his eyes. Barely detected it in his gruff voice.

"What _about_ marriage?"

"I've been thinking about the kind of man I'd like to marry. I've been thinking he'd be a lot like you, actually."

This time the menu was folded neatly and set down, as were the reading glasses. Uncle Frank folded his hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward a little, forcing a tiny smile.

"If you so much as bring someone like me home for dinner, I'll slit his throat before desert. Now would you really want to upset your mother like that? You know how proud she is of her baking."

"How are ya'll doin' tonight? My name's Marissa and I'll be your waitress this evenin', can I start ya'll off with somethin' to drink?" The perkiness of our waitress cut through my Uncle's playful (but altogether quite believable) threats. Her curly, red hair framed a cute, heart shaped face. A lack of hips betrayed she was southern way before her accent did, but she seemed nice.

"Hi Marissa." I offered her a quick smile before requesting a water, no lemon.

She turned to my uncle but he was still perusing the drinks on the back. He wasn't a big fan of restaurant chains like Applebee's (or Chili's or Olive Garden). They were "below his standards". Plus most of them were heavily Mexican/Italian influenced and ethnic diversity was _really_ not his thing.

Finally sighing and neatly folding his menu in front of him, my uncle threw me a disgruntled frown reading 'I can't find anything as usual and it's your fault because you're the one who wanted to come here.' before smiling up at the waitress and requesting two tall glasses of Guinness beer.

When she left I smirked across the table at my favorite family member. "You know, secretly I think you love coming here. You relish the days when I beg you to take me just so you have an excuse to come."

"You have me pegged so well." He returned my smirk before changing the subject back to it's previous, heavier matter. "But, about what you were saying earlier"-

"About marriage."

"Did I raise you to interrupt a man when he's speaking?"

Holding back a laugh I merely shook my head no and let him continue.

"Thank you. Now, I don't want to dwell on this. There are far more amusing, far less detrimental things to be discussed besides your very distant marriage. However, I think it's only fair to warn you what _not_ to bring home."

Letting this sink in and deciding he had a point because my mother _was_ awfully fond of her baking, I nodded as a signal for him to continue.

"No one from the North End. No one from New York or Jersey. In fact, let's just exclude anyone Italian. And I'll kill you if you bring home a cop. Unless he hates his job. In which case, bring him over for dinner and make sure he has plenty to drink. Which brings me to the next rule, he better be able to handle his alcohol."

I nodded, reaching for my water as Marissa set down our drinks.

"I'll be right back to take ya'll's orders, okay?"

"Thanks." my uncle shot her a sweet smile before turning back to me.

"Sounds easy enough. Anything else?" I replied once she'd left and I'd wetted down my pallet.

He thought for just a moment before,

"Nobody related to our waitress. Which excludes just about every son-of-bitch born below the Mason-Dixon line."

I took another sip of water before giving him a stern look, "You know my best friend is from Texas, right?"

"Last time I checked you weren't a lesbian. Now listen up, this one is the most important."

I nodded and set my water aside, giving him my full attention.

"Never, _ever_, get involved with one of my guys. Biggest fucking mistake you'll ever make sweetheart."

Keeping eye contact with him I nodded again, this time with some firmness. I'd known that rule for a while but I'd only ever heard it from my parents. To hear it from my uncle, the man who held the reins on "his guys" made it much more real. Made me want to stay away from them that much more. And anyway, I'd do anything for my uncle. Even if he told me not to marry the love of my life, I'd trust him that there was a reason. That he was only looking out for me.

"Promise me you won't get involved with one of those sorry bastards."

Reaching across the table I squeezed his hand in assurance, "I promise."

"Beautiful. So, how about those Red Sox?"


	2. Labor Day

**Chapter One: Labor Day**

_Stranger you look so different, some other thoughts fill up your mind_

_And you just made it happen, got me thinking of you in my life_

_I hope my will is enough…_

'Stranger' by Elisa

About Two Years Later

The first weekend in September blew in with ferociously heavy winds and rain. Forced to cancel our annual Labor Day plans down in the Cape, we invited Uncle Frank over for dinner on Saturday night instead. It started raining ten minutes after he walked in the door around six pm and didn't even think about letting up thereafter. Not that it mattered much. My mom had made way too much lobster, my father had brought up a dozen bottles of wine from the cellar and we were all happy and warm inside our dining room.

Dinner went perfect, just like always. And just like always, I left the company of my family after helping my mom serve dessert. Maybe it was out of habit, after so many years of being put to bed early so they could let loose. Maybe it was my own personal deep breath, my quiet time after helping my mom get ready all day. Maybe I just really loved being in our kitchen in the evening, my hands wrist deep in soapy water as I washed dishes by hand.

Whatever the reason, I was disrupted just as I'd finished washing the silverware by the sound of the doorbell. Smiling to myself as the sound of my Uncle's laughter roared from the dining room, I knew my family was way too drunk to even have heard the sound. Drying my hands on a nearby dishcloth, I smoothed my dress out a little and went to answer the door.

The sound of rain slapping against the pavement hit my ears as hard as the sight before me hit my eyes. Dark eyes knit together by his brows. A little scruffy. Tall. Broad shouldered. Slightly baggy clothes stained dark with the same rainwater running down his face. He definitely wasn't from around Cambridge.

Swallowing, his eyes seemed reluctant to land on me. Obviously he'd been expecting my father or my Uncle. From the looks of him, it was probably the second. Glancing anxiously around the inside of our foyer, he took a step forward when all that stared back was the dark of my home.

"Can I help you?" I asked, still analyzing what I could of him.

"Uh, yah…I'm lookin' for Frank." he told me, pulling a package from the inside of his jacket.

'_Thick accent and everything. Yep, definitely not from around here.' _Still…something was different about him. This guy wasn't like the others who had come for my Uncle. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it was there. And it made me feel for him.

"He's busy." My face scrunched up apologetically, holding a hand out for the box. "I can make sure he gets that though."

"Thanks." He told me, unsure of what to do. I could tell he was worried about not giving the package directly to my uncle himself. About not seeing it pass into the hands it was meant for.

"I'm his niece by the way, Frank's. I swear he'll get it, you have nothing to worry about." I attempted to assure him. He just nodded and before I could even stop myself, an invitation was pouring out of my mouth. "Would you…maybe like to come in? I was about to make some coffee."

Pursing his lips, he immediately shook his head no. His dark blue eyes closed, as if blocking the sight of me from his vision would help steel his resolve. Because I could tell he didn't want to have to turn me down. It was forty fucking degrees outside. Who chooses being alone with rain that cold when they have the option of a warm, dry house and a hot cup of coffee?

People who would face retribution from my Uncle, that's who. Sighing, I nodded, not being able to blame him.

"If you're sure." I shrugged.

"I need to…get back to some business anyway." He excused himself, taking a backwards step away from the door. Away from me. It surprised me how much I lamented that tiny, little step of his. I wasn't really that attracted to this creep was I? I mean…stick him in a polo and some khakis, give him a good shave and a haircut, shove the R's back in his words and sure. But he wasn't from around here. Girls like me didn't date boys like him. That was just unthinkable. Laughable, really.

But this had nothing to do with how attractive (or unattractive) he was. This was strictly about coffee.

"Have a good night then." I told him, beginning to close the door.

"Yah, you too." He threw over his shoulder at the last minute.

The door closed and the sound of the rain turned to a dull pound again. My hand stayed on the door as I stared, confused. Why had he just turned me down? Surely this guy was in no position to say no to a warm cup of coffee. I just couldn't wrap my poor little head around it.

Sighing, I lifted my other hand to do up the locks again when I heard a soft knock sound from the other side of the thick mahogany. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but who else could it be? Opening the door once again I saw him standing there, fresh raindrops falling from his hair.

"Is that cup of coffee still up for grabs?"

A soft smile burst onto my face out of no where.

"Sure is." Opening the door wider, I ushered him into the foyer. It surprised me that he had manners enough to take off his shoes the moment the door was closed. After a moment or two of gawking, I collected myself. "Here, let me take your jacket."

Reaching up, my warm fingers grazed the skin on the back of his neck as he turned to take off his shoes. His skin was nearly frozen and my heart sagged in it's cage of ribs. In a moment of two of awkwardness we got his coat off together and I hung it up on the rack beside the shoe closet. Tiny rivulets of water flowed off his jacket, forming tiny puddles on the hard wood floor.

"The kitchen's just through here. Be quiet though, Frank is having dinner with my parents in the dining room." I pointed to the tiny bit of light cutting through the closed double doors as we passed them. Loud laughter erupted from the opposite end of the room where my uncle sat at the head of the table, probably on his seventh glass of Merlot.

Noticing my company swallow nervously beside me, I smirked up at him.

"If worse comes to worse, I can always hide you in the cellar. There's enough wine down there to keep you alive and happy for years." My assurance was mostly sarcastic, but it wasn't exactly a lie either. We had way too much alcohol down there.

The joke earned me the smile I'd been looking for and immediately my own grew. Just seeing him smile made me really happy…and I had no idea why. Taking a deep breath I lead him into our kitchen and flicked a light on.

As I began the methodical process of gathering coffee grounds and other condiments from the cabinets, he leaned up against the island counter behind me. Crossing his arms over his chest, his blue eyes watched me work. Turning once, I caught a glance of them and it was like an ice pick stabbing my chest. The feeling nearly knocked me off my feet. Thank god for 'nearly' because I'd been holding coffee mugs and all I needed was for my drunk, overprotective, mobster Uncle Frank to hear shattering porcelain and come running, only to find…wait, what was his name again?

"I'm sorry, I don't think I introduced myself. I mean, I told you I'm Frank's niece, but I didn't tell you my name. At least I don't think I did…did I?" I turned around after pouring the coffee grounds only to find him wearing the most heartbreaking crooked smile. Shoving his hands in his pockets he shook his head a little, obviously holding back laughter at my expense.

"Um, no, you didn't." He mumbled, smirk firmly in place. Blushing, I extended my hand.

"I'm so sorry." I told him, shaking his hand. "My name's Shaynan Carnegie."

"Billy Costigan." He nodded.

"It's nice to meet you Billy. I can't believe I invited you into my house without asking you your name, forgive me." Where had my manners flown off to? I'd been raised better than that. If my mother knew, she'd be outraged. Granted, with some random stranger who worked for my Uncle in our kitchen, she'd probably see my lack of manners as the last of my worries.

"I'm willing to forgive you, so long as I get my coffee." he chuckled, eyeing me with playful distrust.

"Oh, yah, of course." I smiled back. "How do you take your coffee by the way?"

"Light with milk." he answered.

"No sugar?"

Again, he shook his head no. Nodding, I stepped back and leaned against the counter on my side of the kitchen. For a moment, the sound of the gurgling coffee pot filled my softly lit kitchen with only the continually pounding rain to accompany it.

"It must be cold out there. Your hands are freezing." I murmured, nodding downwards once.

"Yah," he bobbed his head, "Yah, it's almost forty out tonight, I think."

"God, and he had you walking around delivering packages? I love my uncle but sometimes I think he's crazy." I said, smiling ever so slightly. Billy looked down and sideways a little, his arms now re-crossed over his chest.

"Sometimes I would agree with you." He told me, eyebrows lifted a little before he glanced up and we laughed into each other's eyes. "No, I mean…Frank's a great man. Really, I have a lot of respect for him. He just does things that I don't know if I could do, ya know?"

I nodded immediately.

"I could never, ever do what he does. I don't know how he lives with it every day."

"But you still love him." He reminded me. A slight frown cut down the middle of my forehead.

"Yah, but…I love my _Uncle_ Frank, not Frank Costello of the Boston black market. It's different. And anyway, a lot of what he does is justified."

Billy's eyes widened for just a moment.

"Justified?" It was obvious he didn't agree with me, which, to be honest, I found a little strange. I mean I was after all defending his own line of work.

"Yah, I mean those people make their own beds. Tough luck if they don't want to sleep in them."

"Would _you_ wanna sleep under a tombstone?"

"No, but I also have enough sense not to get myself involved with the mob."

"Um, I hate to tell you this, but you're Costello's niece. You're pretty fuckin' involved." he chuckled, and I couldn't help but laugh with him.

"You know what I mean!"

"I'm not so sure I do." He said softly, coming down from his laughter just as the timer on the coffee pot went off. Turning, I shut off the machine and began pouring our coffee while explaining my argument.

"I can't help who I'm related to, and honestly I wouldn't trade it for the world. As much as what my Uncle does disturbs me, I love him as much as I love my parents. And the things he does, he does them because he has to. These people that make deals under the table, they don't follow rules. The only thing they respond to is their own fear. If he didn't instill that fear in them, things would be even worse than they are now." I shrugged, going to the fridge to grab milk.

"Can you be sure? I mean you've never known what a black-market-free Boston would be like. It might be worse off, it might be better off, who knows? And thank you." He nodded at me and lifted his mug as a sign of appreciation after I handed it to him. The coffee steamed up from his hands and he inhaled deeply. Even as we were debating, I couldn't help but notice there was something intensely sensual about the way he'd closed his eyes just then, the way his lungs had expanded, the look of gratitude on his face. There was something about him that just fascinated me. I didn't care if we argued for the rest of the night, I didn't want to stop talking to this man anytime soon.

"You're very welcome." I assured him, before continuing on. "But trust me, Boston will never be free of the chains of the mafia. It was here before my uncle, it'll be around after him. But if someone has to do it now, it might as well be him."

"Let me ask you something. When you were five, was there a mob in Boston?"

"Well, of course there was."-

"No, I mean if I asked five-year-old you if there was a mob in town, what would five-year-old you have said to me?"

"…I didn't even know what the mafia was at five years old." I told him quietly, slightly defeated.

"Then who says it has to exist now that you've grown up." When I didn't answer he kept going, either not finished making his point or under the impression that I didn't get it. In reality, I was just thinking really hard about what he'd said. "Obviously there was a time when it didn't exist. I believe it could be like that again, I really do. I have to believe it, s'what gets me through every day."

Taking a deep breath, I took a sip of my coffee.

"You don't sound like you work for my uncle."

He shrugged, "I'm gunna be honest. I fuckin' hate workin' for your uncle."

"But you do it anyway." I reminded him.

"That's right. Goin' on half a year now. And you wanna know why I don't stop?"

I could only nod at this point, albeit solemnly and transfixed. The intensity in his eyes was absolutely mesmerizing. It didn't matter that he was talking shit about my favorite relative, all that mattered was the way his eyes flooded with color and glowed with a passionate anger as he said it.

"Because I can't. Once you start- and people don't usually start 'cause they want to, they do it 'cause they ain't got a fuckin' choice- you're not allowed to stop. They put a bullet in your head the minute you even think ah backing out. No, once you're in this game you're in it for life."

"So, what made you get in?" I asked, arching my eyebrow after a moment or two of silence.

"Family." he shrugged. "I tried not to get involved but, some things are just in your blood, you know?"

I nodded, my eyes falling from his own to stare numbly over his shoulder.

"I know."

The tiniest smile picked up the end of his mouth before he took another sip of coffee.

"What am I sayin', 'course you do." The mug met his lips for a brief moment that seemed to turn our conversation on it's head. "So, you in school?" he asked me out of no where, surprising me a little. I figured he must have picked up on the fact that I was getting uncomfortable talking Jekyll and Hyde about my Uncle. You had to appreciate his sensitivity.

"Yah, I'm an art history major at Cambridge U."

"So, I take it it's not the family business for you." He smirked, chuckling when I laughed a little.

"Yes and no. My mother curates a small gallery in town, I'm currently interning as her assistant."

"They don't let you get too far from home, do they?" He noted, taking another sip of coffee. I just shrugged.

"They're my parents, you know?"

He shook his head again.

"My parents tried, but uh, their boy's deliverin' packages for Frank Costello, so that should say enough, right?"

I could barely breathe, let alone come up with a formidable response. How could I think he knew? We were from such different backgrounds, how could I be so insensitive?

"Is it really that bad?" I asked. And I honestly wanted to know. No one on the inside had ever told me what it was like working for my Uncle and I had to admit: I was curious. Curious about the business. About the way it affected everyone involved psychologically. About whether or not they liked what they did on any level. And now I was especially interested in the man in front of me.

He took a deep breath, looking down into the shadows of his coffee mug before looking up into my eyes.

"I don't even know anymore. All I know is that I don't have a choice, and that makes it feel harder, you know?"

I nodded, knowing the feeling.

"It's probably a pathetic comparison, but…I think I understand. I mean it sounds so stupid, you guys deal with drugs and money and blood and here I am complaining about the good life. But sometimes I just feel like I'm trying to breathe underwater. My parents plan out so much of my life for me that I'm scared to leave home after college. I don't think I'll be able to make it on my own."

He just blinked at me for a few moments, analyzing, judging. I took a deep breath, feeling the frown pull down my mouth as I looked away from him. How could I think he would understand? How could I be so stupid?

"Sorry, I probably sound like a baby."

"No, I get what you're saying." He assured me. The intense flood of color came back to his eyes and I couldn't not believe him. "Trust me, I get it. You feel like you're in a river and there's just no fighting the current. And you're frustrated because it's not even that you want more, you don't even know what you want. No one's ever asked you or bothered to find out. I know."

It was my turn to blink.

"How the hell is a guy like you reading my mind?" I asked softly, smiling a little in my disarmed state. He shrugged, bringing his mug to the sink beside me. After setting it there he lingered, looking down at me for a moment.

"Maybe we're not that different." His voice was low, complimenting the gentle splatter of the rain outside and my kitchen's soft lighting nicely. God, did I want to believe those words. I wanted him to convince me that we were so much more alike than our backgrounds suggested. Sadly, we both knew what was coming next… "I should go. Thank you for the coffee." He still hadn't moved and I had to turn away when my eyes dropped to his mouth.

"Yah, no problem." I stared straight ahead at the island counter in front of me, rubbing my neck absently. When he started out of the kitchen, I hurried to catch up, amazed that I'd almost forgotten to see him to the door.

"Well, you have a good night Ms. Carnegie."

"You too Mr. Costigan."

"Billy." He told me, just after getting his coat on. I couldn't help the small smile on my face.

"It was wonderful to meet you Billy." Suddenly he was on the other side of my door again and my insides were already upset. It didn't matter that things were better this way. That I could do the dishes in peace this way, that I wouldn't have to worry about my Uncle catching us. None of it mattered when all I wanted was to keep talking to him.

"Don't forget to give your Uncle that package."

"I won't." I promised, already thinking of ways to put in a good word for my new friend. "And hey, Billy?"

"Yah?" He turned at the last minute.

"If you ever need a cup of coffee, don't hesitate to come by." I offered, praying he'd take me up on that. Something in his face made it obvious that he was surprised, although he stayed calm.

"I'll keep that in mind. Have a good night."

Smiling softly, I leaned against the door frame as I watched him jog down the porch steps and off down the sidewalk.

"Night." I murmured to myself.

That night I had a hard time getting to sleep, kept up by the sound of the rain and my own thoughts about my conversation with Billy. He'd been a lot more intelligent than I'd have pegged him for and oddly, I wanted to hear what else he had to say. His experiences, his opinions, I wanted to know about all the things he'd experienced that I, in my perfect, protected world, couldn't begin to imagine.

I couldn't pretend that I didn't want to see him again. But I also couldn't act like it was possible at all. Us being together was unthinkable. But that didn't stop the thoughts.


	3. Ignorance Lacking Bliss

A/N: sorry for not updating this, I've been consumed by helping my family during the holidays/the BBC show Merlin lol I'll try to keep this more regular. As a token of my affection, I'll post two chapters tonight :)

**Chapter Two: Ignorance Lacking Bliss**

_Just a hazy girl, blurring all the edges, only seeing blue  
Lost inside, a painting of the city on a wall  
I catch a glimpse of our reflection, we look like everybody else_

It wasn't often that I was allowed to wear jeans around the museum. But that afternoon we were all hard at work preparing for an opening and the gallery was too pressed for time to care about business attire. Besides, have you ever tried to hang pictures in a suit and heels? Not fun.

The hours slipped by over oil and through charcoal, stretching across canvas and wrapped up in heavy, gilded frames. Somewhere between eight am and six pm the colors started running together. Pretty soon my whole world was an Impressionist still-life, a retro abstraction, a painstakingly crafted portrait. There wasn't much time for thought as we unpackaged paintings, matched them with their place markers, hung them up, and made sure everything was angled evenly. But sometimes your eyes couldn't help snagging on the world in your hands and your mind started drifting.

What was so significant about this image that compelled the artist to show the world? Did their family know they were artists, did they approve? Had their heart been broken when they cooped themselves up in their studio to work? Did they have other jobs? Did the world inspire them or hold them in chains? Had they ever felt understood by anyone else?

The whole day I was drowning in coffee to try and stay alert, focused. I knew I needed another cup when a migraine began uncoiling above my spine and my legs threatened to buckle under fatigue. My trips to the back offices for more caffeine were the only time I had all day to myself. Two minutes here, five minutes there. Each second brought me back to the previous evening when I'd been pouring coffee for two.

Over and over again I replayed the quarter of an hour or so I'd spent with Billy. A runner for my Uncle. A drug dealer. Maybe an ex-convict. He probably carried a gun on him all the time. Probably grew up in Charlestown or Dorchester or Southie, most likely went to a public school with a low budget and maybe even metal detectors. Every advantage I'd ever been handed on a silver platter had probably just been another door closed in his face.

I was grateful when my best friend, Reagan, offered to come bring me dinner around seven. If she hadn't called me I probably would have forgotten about food altogether. When she walked in with wraps from D'Angelo's and my mom said we were done for the night anyway, I could have collapsed with relief. Heading upstairs, we sat on the floor of a wing filled with black and white photos of Beacon Hill and Back Bay. Leaning back against a wall, I sighed happily, thrilled to finally have a real break and some privacy.

"You have no idea how much I appreciate this." I told her, taking a rather large bite of my chicken Caesar wrap.

"Probably as much as I do. It was _not_ an easy day at the mall. I never thought I'd actually resent Labor Day sales."

"Ew. Let me guess, lots of bratty kids and people who unfold all your clothes."

"It was never ending. It's amazing to me that Victoria's Secret has never been a crime scene on one of those cop shows."

"We should start a new series. CSI: Prudential Mall." The pair of us laughed softly at the idea for a moment or two, trying not to choke on our food in the process.

"I smell potential." Reagan smirked, opening up her chip bag. There was quiet between us for a minute or two as we continued to eat and my eyes found the pictures on the walls. I hadn't hung these so they were new to me. Blossoming with flower boxes and lined with big, expensive townhouses, they were gorgeous. The streets were clean and all the lines were straight. My eyebrows cinched together subconsciously and Reagan noticed it before I even felt it. "Everything okay?"

I must have looked like I was losing my mind, staring angrily at pictures that hadn't done anything to me. But for some reason, their very presence felt offensive.

"Do you ever wonder why people are so superficial? Why they pay money just to dress up and sip cocktails around pictures of what everyone tells us is supposed to be ideal?"

"Because…the pictures are pretty? I dunno. Why, is there something wrong with them?" She asked, searching the walls for an answer to why the hell her best friend was spouting out philosophical nonsense.

"I dunno, I mean look at these photographs. This isn't Boston. We know it's not. Everyone who comes to the opening tomorrow should _know_ that it's not. What are we doing trying to surround ourselves with the idea that it is."

"The labels on these pictures say they _were_ taken in Boston." Reagan argued, her nose scrunched up in utter confusion. She still wasn't getting it.

"That's not what I meant." A small laugh left my throat and I felt a little silly, realizing how out in left field I must have sounded without having explained myself properly. "It's just that there's more to Boston than skyscrapers and yacht clubs, right? There's people struggling to deal with the loss of factory jobs, there's a rampant drug market, there's hundreds of kids who come home to an empty house in a scary neighborhood every day after school. What about that Boston?"

"Why would anyone want pictures of that stuff?" She cocked an eyebrow, officially freaked out.

"Because it's real." I shrugged, not quite sure myself if I'd want to stare any of those things in the face. "Because art is supposed to be about our internal struggle with ourselves, right? Our stories. Not just the pretty things."

"Isn't that the point of getting rich? So your whole life _is_ just about the pretty things?" There was a pause between her sentences as she licked the salt from her fingertips, wondering if she should voice what we both knew was coming next. "I mean…that's pretty much _your_ life, right?"

I couldn't argue with her because she had a point. Everything in my life was clean, straight, manicured, shined, trimmed, custom-fitted, polished. My parents worked hard to preserve our ignorance to pain, disease, poverty, even old age. Who the hell was I to talk about inner-city life? To feel pity for people who were probably stronger every day than I'd ever had to be in my entire life.

"Yah." My response took longer than it should have, and even when it came it was weak. "I think I'm just waking up to the fact that there's something beyond it."

"Okay…" She nodded a few times, still kind of freaked out. "What exactly sparked all this sudden enlightenment, Buddah?"

"Shut up." Smirking, I slapped her lightly on the arm and we laughed for a few moments before I started playing with the wrapper of my sandwich nervously. "I dunno…I sort of met this guy."

"I should have known." A grin broke out on my best friend's face. "Man, you are such a sucker for a cute boy."

"He wasn't cute and he _wasn't_ a boy." I assured her, without giving much thought to the repercussions that would come with those words. Immediately Reagan's eyebrows were up.

"Oh really?" She asked, clearly very amused. My eyes rolled towards the inset lights in the ceiling at the tone of her voice.

"Yes, really." My gaze fell to my lap as I tried to remember Billy's defining characteristics. "He was…well, he worked for my Uncle." That really should have said everything.

"The gangster one? That's so hot."

I couldn't help but laugh a little at her flippant reference. Though I supposed it wasn't her fault, she didn't fully understand how serious his lifestyle was. How little it resembled a T.V. show or anything else deemed by the media to be 'cool and exciting'. But it was probably better that way. The less involved either of us got in his business, the better.

"Um, yah, okay." I shook my head, hoping she wouldn't notice the blush creeping up my neck.

"Well how did you guys meet? I mean doesn't your family try to keep you away from that stuff?"

"He came over last night to drop something off for Frank and then somehow he ended up in my kitchen and we were having coffee. I don't even know how I let that happen." Suddenly I was feeling a lot less enlightened and a lot more stupid. Why had I let Billy into my house? I could have gotten us both in serious trouble. What the fuck had I been thinking?

"What the hell did you two talk about for you to be all Champion of Poor, all of a sudden?"

"Working for my Uncle, mostly." Subconsciously I started chewing on my bottom lip as the worn down, desperate look in his eyes came back to me.

"That's it? And you swear he wasn't cute? Man, why do you have to take the fun out of everything?" She chuckled to herself.

"I didn't say he was gross. But I mean, come on Reagan, he's from the projects. Cute really isn't the word."

"Do you _have_ a word?" She quirked a mischievous eyebrow that seemed to suggest if I didn't, she would be happy to find one for me. By this point my cheeks were uncomfortably hot. I was regretting ever bringing the subject up. I should have just eaten my diner and stayed on the safe topics. New shipments in at Victoria's Secret. Her turbulent love life. How school was going.

"Different." I shrugged after a moment or two of thought. "Different and…interesting. You don't expect those thuggish guys to have anything in their heads besides money, guns and sex. But he did."

"You think you're gunna see him again?" She asked, taking another bite of sandwich. The very idea made me chuckle.

"God no." I waved away the thought, "One time deal. But he made me think you know?"

"I think you just thought he was hot." She smirked, ever the brutally honest best friend. "But I won't hold it against you."

"Screw you." Shaking my head, I started rounding up our wrappers off the gleaming, hard-wood floor. "Come on, let's get this stuff cleaned up before my mom comes in and has a stroke."


	4. Take Me Home

**A/N: Again, sorry for the lack of updates, hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)**

**Chapter Three: Take Me Home**

_It isn't safe to walk the city streets alone  
I need some company, a guardian angel  
Take me home tonight, I don't want to be alone _

Nearly Two Months Later

"So I tell the bastard, the dogs are gunna rip your arms off if you don't leave 'em alone while they're tryin' to eat. It's only common courtesy, when somethin' is trying to eat, you leave it the hell alone. Well, he wouldn't listen. So finally, I says to him, I'll do it myself if I gotta, just get the hell away from"- And right in the middle of the punch line of my Uncle's story…his phone started to vibrate. Frowning, he picked it up off the table and checked the caller I.D. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he answered. "Hello?…I'm in the middle of dinner with my niece, can this not wait?…Alright, fine, fine. Calm down before you shit yaself. I'll be there shortly. Find Costigan, tell him to get down here to take my niece home. Don't move until I get there."

My chest felt too small to be housing my heart for a moment when the word 'Costigan' left my Uncle's mouth. He couldn't be serious.

"B-Billy Costigan?" I forced the name out, too surprised to think about how stupid it was of me to ask. An aggressively worried look crossed my Uncle's face and he paused in the middle of getting up.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" he asked calmly.

"No." I answered a little too quickly. "It's fine."

An arched eyebrow was all that met my answer for a second before my Uncle resumed getting up. Suddenly, the hostess was behind him helping him put his coat on. Even after all these years, it was amazing to me that the whole city knew when Frank Costello was on the move.

"I asked for Costigan because you said to me the other day, 'Uncle Frank. I like that man. He was nice.' Were those not your exact words?"

I smirked to myself as he set my light pink cardigan over my shoulders and handed me my clutch.

"He _was_ nice, I'm not complaining."

"Thank goodness. Now, here's fifty dollars, tell Billy to stop somewhere and get you the dinner you deserve."

"I can just wait for them to wrap up the salad I ordered here, it's really not"-

"Don't be difficult, listen to your Uncle. The service was a joke tonight anyway." He mumbled as we walked towards the door. Passing the hostess stand however he was all big smiles and gracious waves. "Thank you ladies so much, have a fabulous evening."

A chorus of gushing politeness followed until the glass doors closed behind us and all that could be heard was the harsh wind as it whipped in from the harbor. A black Lexus waited right in front of us for my Uncle. I vaguely recognized the man at the wheel as one of his men.

"I'm sorry we had to cut this short sweetheart. Wasn't I just saying how you shouldn't interrupt a man when he's trying to eat a meal? Honestly."

"Don't worry about it. You're coming over for Thanksgiving in a few weeks, right?"

"Even if the entire police department was being hanged, I still wouldn't miss it."

"That sounds like fun actually, dinner and a show." I joked with him.

"Another time Shay. Can't have too much excitement in my old age, can I?"

"Doesn't look that way to me." I gestured to the car good naturedly. He just laughed and started towards the curb.

"You sure you'll be alright?"

"I'll be fine! Go, the city needs you!" He saluted me before ducking into the car and I laughed as the car sped away. What they were doing, where ever they were going, I really didn't want to know. Still, I couldn't stop the flashes of imagery through my head. A warehouse, an abandoned building, the docks, someone's house…who knew. I couldn't let myself think about it, it was far too depressing. Besides, Billy was on his way, I had every reason to be thrilled. I never actually thought I'd see him again and here he was, rescuing me from the dark, windy night.

As I laughed softly to myself about the silly, fairy tale-esque parallel in my mind, head lights approached from the end of the street. A strange, calm sort of warmth ran through me as the dark SUV pulled up. Somehow, through all the fear and excitement wrestling around inside me, I knew it was Billy in that car and I knew I had nothing to worry about as long as he was with me.

"Hey stranger." I smiled brightly, as I climbed in. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eyes as I climbed in, sat down or put on my seat belt. Finally, as he pulled away from the curb, I chanced a brave glance in his direction. He was looking at the road by then, but it was probably better that way.

"You all strapped in?"

"Yah, what happened? Time to play cops and robbers?"

"Heh, s'a little more complicated than that." he smirked, glancing at me once. His eyes found mine for the first time in months and it hit me harder than I had been expecting.

"I'm sorry he made you come get me. It's not like I couldn't have hailed a taxi or something…" It was hitting me then that Billy probably thought this was ridiculous. Little, spoiled princess had to come get picked up from dinner. Couldn't even be bothered to call her own driver. He just shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. I'm your chauffeur for the night." A small smile picked up the end of his mouth. Before I could reply however, he had opened his mouth again. "It's only seven-twenty, did you even _eat_?"

"Well, no." I confessed, not really caring about how hungry I was.

"That's a shame."

"Why?" I asked, amused.

"You look nice. S'too bad your Uncle only got to show you off for twenty minutes."

"How do you know we weren't doing something before dinner? Frank loves opera." I smirked.

"Actually, you took a trip to the bank. But I didn't think sitting in front of the ATM security camera counted as showing you off."

"Heh, alright. You're on top of things, I believe you." My hands came up briefly, assuring surrender. He cracked a smile, continuing to drive.

"So, if you're still hungry, I can take you some place…if you want."

"What, so now _you_ want to show me off?" I teased him.

"Maybe I'm hungry too." He offered quietly and I believed him. My Uncle paid decent, but that wasn't enough to get most people much around this city. Not when you factored in rent and utility bills and bullets for guns and new shirts after having to burn the blood spattered ones. It was a costly business, the black market. For everyone.

"Well, what are you in the mood for?" The moment that slipped out of my mouth, all the implications rushed to my cheeks in the form of a fierce blush.

"Depends what's available." He smirked back, nothing but good intentions in his tone. It took a moment longer than it should have for me to gather myself and respond.

"Hmm…I kind of like the sound of a nice burger and fries down by the Quincy shoreline."

"That can be arranged." He smiled softly, nodding. For a couple of minutes we drove on, Billy winding his way onto Mass Ave, due south. Then it hit me.

"Wait…" My face fell and I sat back in my seat, feeling defeated.

"What's wrong?" He asked, confused.

"Is that a good idea? I mean…this time of night and that part of town don't exactly mix well with the two of us together. We'd be _asking_ for trouble." Silence blanketed the car and the way the words had come out sunk in. Suddenly I found myself scrambling to erase the damage. "Not because of who you are, I didn't mean…I meant because of what you _do_."

"I know what you meant." His voice was so quiet, I could swear I felt my blood vessels strain with an empathetic sort of ache. Not really thinking straight, I reached across the cup holders that spaced us out and laid a hand on his arm as he gripped the steering wheel with slightly more force than necessary.

"I'm really glad my Uncle asked you out of all his guys to pick me up. Just know that, okay?"

Though he nodded, I wondered if he was clenching his teeth when no words followed and his eyes stayed stubbornly on the road. Knowing I hadn't made up for the awkwardness yet, I continued to speak, hoping and praying I wouldn't make things even worse.

"So, maybe we should take the burger and fries someplace safer."

"Well, that excludes Boston." He grumbled out of the side of his mouth.

A low laugh bubbled up from my throat at the duel humor and sad truth of the joke.. His own laughter followed soon after as he stole glances at me between watching the road. To be honest, I think he was more amused with my reaction rather than his own cynicism.

"Heh, that was good." I smirked, picking a speck of lint off my dress.

"It still doesn't solve our problem." He reminded me.

"Hmm…well, would you be at all opposed to eating at my house?" It seemed so plainly simple now, I wondered why we hadn't thought of that solution sooner. Looking over at me, I realized it was because Billy seemed sure I'd lost my mind.

"You really think that's a good idea? Your Uncle's got guys watching your house twenty-four seven."

"What are they gunna do? Interrupt him to explain that they saw me with you after he just gave explicit orders to have you pick me up? Not likely." I replied with a sly smile. He shook his head, getting off at the nearest exit so we could change course.

"You're a bad influence." A small, albeit reluctant smile was pulling up the side of his face.

"Learned from the best." I shrugged.

"Can't argue with you there." He agreed with a sigh.


	5. Bad For Your Health

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own the song 'Monsters'. All rights reserved to Matchbook Romance.

**Chapter Four: Bad For Your Health **

_What's come between you and me?  
I can't help this feeling any more  
Believe what you read, believe what you hear  
We are the monsters hiding underneath your bed  
'Monsters' by Matchbook Romance_

We slipped into my empty house carrying bags upon bags of hot, delicious heart-attack inducing food courtesy of Mickey D's. Burgers, fries, apple pies, fruit parfaits, cups of coffee, bottles of water, and a small cranberry juice for Billy. It was all there, anything you could possibly want off the menu. And it was a good thing too 'cause I was starving.

"Where are you going?" I cocked an eyebrow as Billy diverted away from my path up the stairs after we'd shed our shoes. His large construction boots looked kind of odd next to my stilettos. To be honest, they looked odd in my house period. But chances were good that if my parents got home before he left they would be too drunk to notice anyway. Or at least that was my hope.

"The kitchen?" It seemed a likely choice given that we were planning on sharing a meal.

"Try again." I flashed a mischievous smile, leading him to the second floor.

"This really is _not_ the best idea." He mumbled, eyes looking around, taking in anything they could to give him a better picture of my life. There probably wasn't anything in there he had never seen before. Small or large, all of the houses in Massachusetts were the same. Victorian wood frame, creaky floor boards, musty scent of dust, family portraits on the walls, and Catholic mementos stuck in ever corner.

"What, eating in my room?" I asked over my shoulder, "I'll clean up the mess, don't worry."

"It's not the food that's bothering me. It's the thought of your parents walking in on you takin' supper upstairs with the kind of guy that works for your Uncle."

My eyebrows furrowed as I turned to push my bedroom door open with the side of my arm. The room was dark, diluted moonlight filtering in through the thin white curtains on my windows the only source of illumination until I flicked on my bedside lamp. Dumping the contents of my arms out onto the bed, I turned to him as I slid off my jacket.

"Don't say things like that." I told him, a half annoyed half disheartened look pulling at my features.

"It's true." He insisted, taking his own jacket off before coming over to stand in front of me. "I'm that guy that you've been warned to stay away from your entire life. Bringin' me up here, gettin' close to me, tryin' to act like we're the same…you're just makin' this shit harder on yourself."

"You're not like the other guys that work for Frank." My head shook back and forth a little, stubborn heart refusing to give in.

"_How_ am I not?" He asked, his tone harsh. "My entire family did Frank's dirty business all around me while I was growin' up. I've got misdemeanors to my name, _and_ felonies. I've done jail time. I've bought and sold coke all around this town. I carry a gun with me because I spend all of my time in places where I need one. I'm everything about this city your parents are trying so hard to shield you from."

A few moments of silence passed between us as he stared me down, both of us reeling from the energy he had just thrust at me. The frustration, the anger. Meeting his darkened eyes without flinching or even thinking of backing down, I took a step forward.

"Maybe I don't want to be shielded. To be honest with you, I don't have a lot of friends and I like spending time with you. I think you like spending time with me too so just….humor me, okay?" I asked, my words a bit awkward as I looked up at him with big, hazel eyes. I could already tell what was going on in his mind. That he didn't have a choice anyway because the spoiled little princess would start bad mouthing him to Uncle Frank the minute he refused her anything she wanted and then he'd be fucked. But if he kept playing my game sooner or later we would get caught and he would probably be even more fucked. Either way, it was him that was going to take the shit for my petty mess. "Look, if I'm wrong and this isn't worth your trouble then that's fine. I won't hold it against you. I won't run to Frank and cry about it. And if you get in trouble, I'll make sure they know this was all me. I won't just stand by and let you take the heat for this okay?"

Another long string of silences slid by and he fell roughly onto the bed, his weight shaking the mattress slightly as he took a seat. Softer, and with slightly more grace, I sat beside him.

"Fine." He nodded, looking down at his hands. "Okay."

"Okay you're leaving or okay you're staying."

"I'm staying." He assured me, reaching back to grab one of the McDonald's bags. "Only for the free food though."

"Fuck you." I chuckled under my breath, turning to lean back against my pillows and grab some food of my own.

Over the next hour he told me about growing up in Southie, all the drugs and street fights and pick up hockey games. I let him in on life in Cambridge, full of prep schools and benefit galas and big plans. It seemed like no matter what the background noise was demanding, both of us had a name to live up to. In the end I was surprised to find we had more in common than I'd ever imagined when he had first showed up on my door step. Gradually, the conversation grew deeper, each of us begging questions that couldn't be answered with any ease.

"So," I started on my next curiosity, spinning my spoon around the parfait it was sitting in. "What's it like, doing cocaine?"

Beside the bed, feet crossed at the ankles up on the mattress, Billy's elbows lay on the armrests on either side of my pale pink, velvet lined wingback chair. His gaze seemed to revert back into his head even as his eyes stayed locked straight ahead, staring blankly at my bedroom window and the moonlit trees beyond its frame.

"Imagine all the times you've felt on top of the world. It's like everyone finally sees what an amazing person you've always been and you can feel them seeing it. The world is yours and it fucking adores you." His eyes cut back to mine and I nodded, trying to let his words sink in amidst the countless warnings my family had ever instilled in me. With such a large source of cocaine so easily accessible to their darling daughter, it was only natural that they had made it their personal mission to terrify me into avoiding drugs.

"Wow." My eyes were lit up with curiosity and wonderment. "Sounds like a miracle."

"It is…until you come down from that high and the whole world is nothing but pain and fear and headaches. And the worst part is, the only thing that will make all of that go away is another fix. With every hit you take, every line you sniff, the dependency only gets stronger. Every low is more painful than the last. It drives you insane while simultaneously making you dependent."

"Why are all the most wonderful pleasures in life so detrimental to our well-being?" I joked, shaking my head a little as I continued to play with my parfait cup. "Case in point, all this fast food."

"Case in point…" Billy shrugged, looking me deeply in the eyes for a few moments so that there would be no mistaking his meaning. He was talking about us again.

"How many times do I have to ask you not to do that?"

"Sorry if I value my life." He smirked.

"Frank's not going to blow your head off." I assured him, returning the amused look.

"Sure he's not. 'Til you ask him to anyway."

"Which I would never do."

"You say that now. Don't underestimate my ability to let you down."

"I don't think that's the problem here." I told him softly, trying to memorize the way my dim, bedside lamp was gently throwing gold light in his hair. Casting shadows of his eyelashes along his cheeks. Warming the cold, hardened blue of his eyes.

"I know it's not." He chuckled darkly, gaze dropping to the side of my bed. "The problem here is that you don't care. I keep trying to figure that out. Maybe you're bored with your life. Maybe you're rebelling. Maybe you're curious about what's been up your Uncle's sleeve all these years."

"Maybe I wasn't lying when I said I like spending time with you." I reminded him, lips tightened in indignation over my intentions being doubted simply because of where I came from. Then again, Billy probably had to deal with that kind of judgment every day of his life. People looked at him differently when he walked into the corner liquor store, or an auto repair shop or even just sitting next to him on the train. They tensed up, tried not to look too worried while keeping an eye on his hands. I knew because I'd done it before to a thousand guys just like him.

"…I like spending time with you too." He mumbled back after a few moments passed between us during which he really wasn't sure what to say. He was trying to fight this for our own good. Well, _my_ own good. His own _pulse_. "Y'know, aside from the constant threat of being shot."

Rolling my eyes, I reached out and delivered a swift kick to his thigh with my foot.

"I'm just kidding." He chuckled, reaching over and nudging my leg with his own sock-laden foot before wincing with surprise, massaging his abused thigh. "Damn. You're more dangerous than you look."

"What, pearls and little black dresses don't say dangerous to you?" One of my eyebrows quirked playfully, the small smile on my face soft. But Billy didn't seem to find the joke as funny as I did. For a few moments he just stared at me, eyes fixed somewhere between my eyes and chest. It took me a minute, but finally I realized where his gaze had become stuck. My pearls.

"I guess it's a different kind of dangerous." He finally answered, bitten down nails picking at the wooden armrest of my chair.

"I guess it is." I conceded, chewing my lip a little. It was a horrible habit, but I wasn't allowed to bite my nails and I didn't smoke. Moments like this craved an outlet. What was a girl to do? Thank God for chap stick.

"It's late." Bunching up his wrappers, Billy grabbed one of the empty bags and began stuffing his trash into it. I knew what this meant and I didn't like it. He was leaving. Without a concrete reason or excuse, he was forcing me into loneliness. I knew better than to blame him, but that doesn't mean I didn't anyway.

"Yah." Avoiding his eyes, I ducked my head as I gathered the rest of our trash and crossed the room to toss it in my waste basket. Looking down at the odd sight so many greasy, brightly colored wrappers made in my white, whicker trashcan, I couldn't help but grimace. "The maids are going to think I'm bulimic or something."

"You should get some help for that." Billy chuckled to himself, despite the fatigue and lack of amusement pulling down the rest of his face. Under his eyes were little half-moons of a sickly grey color, indicating a lack of sleep. Selfish as I was about my desire to keep him around, I knew he needed rest and the truth of that alone made letting him leave bearable. Acceptable.

"Maybe you should help me out, buy me dinner sometime." I suggested nonchalantly as we made our way down the hallway that led to our stairs. By this point I was so annoyed with his sudden decision to abandon me that I didn't care if I made things uncomfortable by coming on too strong. Screw him and his fear. He'd only stayed for the free food anyway, right?

"As soon as I find a bulletproof vest, I'll call you." He promised, trouncing down the stairs behind me. I was glad that he didn't see it when I let the comment coax a smirk out of me.

"I'm telling you," Shoving my hands into the front pockets of my sweater, I moved aside and gave him enough room to get his shoes back on. "No one is going to shoot you. Not for this anyway."

"I bet you say that to all the boys." He mumbled, head lowered as he did up the laces of his boots. Still, I could distinctly make out the desire to try and make light of this in his voice. You had to admire him for trying to leave on a high note. Artificial. But high.

"What boys?" I laughed softly, "You think boys talk to me? With a family like mine? Most guys don't have the spine to even look at me."

"Oh, I'm sure they're lookin'." He chuckled under his breath, heading for the exit. The words were so faint, I had to wonder if he'd even meant for me to hear them at all. But it didn't really matter, with my front door now open we'd hit the end of our road anyway. At least, for that night. Through a long string of silence we stared at each other, almost challenging the other to say something, but mostly just holding on to the coattails of the evening.

"Thank you for staying." I finally spoke up, forcing my eyes to stay even with his as I did.

"Thank you for giving me the choice." He murmured back, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark leather jacket. My toes wriggled uncomfortably as the same cold he was standing in began creeping at the edges of my door.

"I'll see you again right?" My arms crossed over my chest and when the words came out, they were surrounded by tiny clouds of condensation. Fucking Canada and its stupid cold fronts.

"If I live that long." He shrugged, rocking back on his heels once or twice as he flicked his eyebrows speculatively. "Sure."

"Get outta here." I shook my head, laughing softly as I pushed him towards the porch steps. Somewhere along the way he turned to face me, slowing down for just a moment.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad I stayed." His tired eyes blinked up at me. "Have a good night Shay."

"You too Billy." And with a last, solidifying glance, he turned for the car my Uncle had let him borrow and he didn't look back.

* * *

I'm not sure I would have been able to let Billy Costigan walk out of my bedroom, let alone my house lol is that just me? Anyways, thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing. However, I would like to warn everyone, I only have two more chapters written up and that's why I'm stretching out updates because I don't want to have everything posted and then just leave this sitting for months and months at a time. I know the updates take a while and I'm sorry, but out of all my stories this one gets the least amount of reviews, so I really don't consider it a priority. While I appreciate the loyalty and passion of the few people who do read, review and enjoy this story I'm asking you now to please stop reviewing my other stories without reading or leaving any feedback pertaining to them. If you want me to update this story then a) tell your friends about it and have *them* to review also or b) leave more in your review other than 'update'. I don't mind if you ask me to update a different story than you're leaving a review for as long as you read that story also and leave some feedback that's actually relevant. I don't think that's asking too much. Thanks everyone :)


	6. Good Little Girls

Sorry this took so long guys, I kept trying to upload it last week and the site wouldn't let me :( But it's here now. Not very long or Billy-intensive but the next ch. def makes up for that ;)

**Chapter Five: Good Little Girls **

_I'm just a girl, living in captivity _  
_Don't let me out of your sight_  
_Take this pink ribbon off my eyes_  
'Just A Girl' by No Doubt

A Few Days Later

My older brother didn't come over much, but when he did there was always laughter and big, careless smiles. In a house where everything was covered in plastic and most topics were taboo, we had bonded under an umbrella of mutual oppression. His 'class clown' attitude always had a way of making me smile even when I didn't want to. So, it was unusual for him to be scowling in the middle of the kitchen, especially with a plate full of food on the counter in front of him. As I had walked into the room, just having gotten home from dance class, I stopped dead for half a second out of surprise.

"Did the meatloaf do something to offend you, Devon?" My eyebrow quirked in his direction as I worked my way out of my thick, woolen coat.

"Hmm?" His gaze snapped up, obviously not having heard me come in. The arms across his chest unfolded and his muscles seemed to relax a little.

"Oh, hey Shay." Hopping up onto a bar stool across the counter from him, I reached over and grabbed his glass of water, helping myself to a long drink.

"Nice to see you too." He grumbled playfully, snatching the glass back as soon as I'd finished. "You just get back from dance?"

"What gave me away? The dance clothes or all the sweat?" I smirked, reaching between us again to steal one of his asparagus stalks.

"Actually, it was the tutu you've got stuck up your ass." He drawled, a cheeky smile on his face. My eyes rolled towards the ceiling at his immaturity, though a tiny smile was pulling up the side of my own mouth. Some things never changed.

"Oh, you're funny." I replied sarcastically. "Seriously though, it looked like you were trying to roast the plate with your eyes. Is everything alright?"

"Yah." He shrugged, obviously still upset as he picked up his fork and stabbed at the mashed potatoes. "Just shit with Frank, you know how it goes."

My jaw set and I looked away from my brother for a second, willing myself not to say anything rude or immature. I may have been Frank's favorite niece, and the one he doted on the most, but he had always kept me at a distance when it came to anything serious. I wasn't allowed to know about the business, I wasn't allowed to work with him, I wasn't even allowed to know what parts of town he had guys in. Apparently I was just supposed to believe that my Uncle had been born rich and did nothing in his spare time but read the sports page and take leisurely drives around the city with Gwen, his girlfriend.

Devon on the other hand was a part of the God damned board of executives. My parents weren't exactly ecstatic that my brother's finance degree was being put to use managing an organized crime gang's legal books. But they figured he was a big boy, he could handle himself. As a topic of conversation, we both had an unspoken understanding of avoidance, but apparently whatever was bothering Devon was so nerve-wracking it trumped my spoiled sense of pride.

"So what's going on?" I forced myself to ask, mild worry buried somewhere beneath all the jealously and resentment. Obviously this had the potential to be really bad or else my brother wouldn't have hunkered down in his mother's kitchen with a plate full of comfort food.

"Don't worry about it." Devon shook his head, taking a long sip of water before hunching over the plate again. "Forget I ever said anything. You know, I saw Reagan the other day at the mall. That girl has grown _up_."

"Oh please." My nose scrunched up at the disgusting thought of my brother anywhere near my best friend with less than innocent intentions. "She's definitely out of your league. However, the question I just asked you is well within your reach. What's going on with Uncle Frank?"

Taking a rather large bite of meatloaf, my brother's eyes tore away from my own, refusing to acknowledge what I was saying. He had as much of an agreement with Frank as with me not to let his job bleed over into his family life. I was sure he'd sworn a dozen times to our Uncle that he would never bring any of the business back home with him.

But I wasn't going to let him get off that easy. Already beginning to lose patience with how much everyone kept me sheltered, talking to one of Frank's guys on a semi-regular basis was making me feel even more entitled to know what the hell was going on.

"Come on Dev." I pleaded with my brother. "You and Frank mean so much to me. Are you really gunna keep me in the dark and let me worry my brains out over the two of you?"

"Even if I could tell you, it's way too complicated to explain. I don't have the patience to walk you through it." He told me, tone already getting increasingly short.

"Try me." I shot back. Just because I didn't participate in the black market didn't mean I was ignorant to how it worked. To be honest, the idea that I was felt a little offensive.

"It's just stupid, political shit." He sighed, scraping at the last of his mashed potatoes as he continued to avoid my eyes.

"Bloody political shit?" I asked. There were exactly four reasons my Uncle ever really went after someone hard. Selling near schools, tampering with the product, snitching and encroachment onto his territory. The only political option seemed to be the last one and from the little I had gathered over the years, that sort of blatant disrespect always ended messy.

Letting the pieces of the puzzle sink in, it was a while before I responded to my brother's solemn nod, trying to wrap this chess game around my head. But something didn't fit.

"I thought Frank had a monopoly on Boston." I blurted out, still trying to figure this whole thing out with the few clues I'd been given. From the look on Devon's face I had already guessed too much. As he threw his plate and fork in the sink, not even bothering to rinse it off, I could sense that his resolve was just barely cracking. Finally, he threw me a line.

"He does. In coke."

I felt it when my eyes widened, though I wasn't sure if it was out of shock or fear. Fear for my Uncle. Fear that his entire empire could potentially collapse all around us. Fear of an all out gang war ripping Boston in half. And oddly, though not entirely surprising…fear for Billy. It was then that I first felt sucker punched by the realization that I was in way over my head with him. Trying to hide all this from my brother and simultaneously come up with an articulate response, I forced my lungs to take a few deep breaths.

"What…" Clearing my throat, I tried again. "What could possibly push cocaine out of a market this lucrative?"

For a second my brother just looked at me, his features simultaneously walking the edge between jealousy and pity. I was sure anyone in his position had moments when they wished they could take everything back, rewind to when their poor little brains had been full of fuzzy ignorance and all the happier for it. But I also knew he wouldn't take that route even if it were possible. Knowing how this city worked, playing for the side that made all the rules and pulled all the strings was worth it at the end of the day.

"It's not in the city yet, but it's creeping through the ghettos on the outer edges because it's so much cheaper."

Suddenly, everything he'd been telling me clicked into place with snippets I'd heard from Reagan about her druggie friends, random stories on the evening news I'd tuned in and out of, gossip at the corner dug store when simple stuff like Sudafed had to be signed for.

"You can't be serious Dev." My face fell flat with a serious lack of amusement. "Meth? Really? For God's sake, this is Boston!"

As far as I knew, meth labs were set up in mobile homes throughout the backwoods of the south. It was cheap sure, because it was made by and for redneck hillbillies. Who the hell would be buying it all the way up in New England? Where would they make it? And how could it possibly be competing with the high grade of cocaine my Uncle dealt in?

"Last time I checked, addiction didn't know the difference. Most of the people who buy this shit don't care who makes it or where it comes from, they just need to get high."

"Why does he tell you all this stuff?" My voice was quiet as I leaned back against the barstool, eyebrows knitted together and a pout on my lips. "Why doesn't he trust me?"

"It's not that he doesn't trust you, he just…" A deep breath left his lungs as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. After a moment or two of staring into space, trying to find the right words, he gave up and went back to finishing the water he'd poured for himself. "He trusts you, okay? You know that."

"Is that why he doesn't tell me anything?" I asked, my amusement clearly tempered by a dash of immature cynicism. "Because he trusts me?"

My brother's head tilted at my insolence, eyes narrowing with a clear warning.

"If you say one word to Frank about what I just told you, I swear on the Virgin Mother herself Shaynan I will kill you. Slowly."

"Before or after Frank kills you?" I asked, swiveling the stool around so I could prop my feet up on the seat next to mine, clearly not phased at all by his empty threats. I knew Devon too well. The closest we'd ever actually get to hurting one another was a good, old fashioned fistfight and that was hardly worth the worry. I may have stopped growing at eighteen, but I could still kick his 6'2" ass.

"Has it ever occurred to you that the less you know about this shit, the safer everyone stays?" He asked, tone taking on the self-importance of a father lecturing his rebellious middle-schooler. As he washed his hands and looked for his keys, it was my turn to narrow my own eyes.

"Who do you think you are? I grew up under the same roof as you, of course I know that. I know all the right cards to play to stay safe. I know what a serious threat Frank's business poses to us. I know it all Dev, it's been shoved down my throat since I could walk." I reminded him, practically biting the words off. "I'm just sick of being treated like a whiney brat simply because I want to understand a little bit about what's going on around me."

"Well, you keep _acting_ like a whiney brat, that's how you're gunna get treated." He snapped back, wiping his wet hands on the back of his jeans. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hopped down from the stool and grabbed my coat.

"Fuck you." Clearly there was no talking to him tonight, he was still too riled up from his meeting with Frank. But that didn't excuse the way he was talking to me or the way he had come over to his parents' house just to raid the fridge or the fact that he was acting like the second coming of Jesus Christ. "Don't forget to lock the door on your way out, jackass."

Upstairs, my eyes glared angrily into the bathroom mirror as I waited for the water gushing from the bath spout to heat up. Peeling my clothes off, I could feel the blood rushing under my skin fast enough almost to hear. I couldn't pin point exactly what had set me off about my banter with Devon, but I knew I wanted to punch him. Or rip something to pieces. Or scream. No matter how much propriety had been stuffed down my throat over the past twenty-two years, that Irish temper always had a way of catching up with me. At least every once in a while.

But what legitimate reason did I have to be so angry? As I stepped under the deliciously hot spray of the shower, I seemed at a loss to find anything concrete. Everything Devon had said was true. I knew the way things were, I'd known for a while. I was a girl and this was serious stuff. My asking questions wasn't going to do any good. The only difference would be how much harder I'd find sleep knowing the men I cared about the most, Frank, Devon…and now maybe even Billy, were in more danger than usual.

"Fuck." The sigh fell softly over the water as I turned to lean back against the tile.

My uncle was going to be agitated. My brother was going to be pissy from all the stress. And Billy? Any chance I'd had at seeing more of him was probably shot to hell now. He was a foot soldier. Frank would be using him to find information and then kill the messengers. None of those people would be anywhere near my town. Like Devon had said, meth crept in at the poorest edges of a city. The trust-fund babies of Cambridge only did coke as part of their rock star lifestyle checklist. It was edgy, it was cool and it was expensive. Chances were good we'd never see meth in my neighborhood.

Letting all of this sink in, I felt my nerves start to seize up in anticipation of Thanksgiving. Then there would be my father's birthday party. Christmas. With so much tension under one roof, the next month was likely to be World War III waiting to happen. It was moments like that, that made me dread the holidays.


	7. Give Me Your Grief

*The Guardian Angels are a non-for-profit group of unarmed, highly trained, citizen patrollers. I've never actually seen them in Southie, but I've literally witnessed them patrolling and breaking up fights in Mattapan (a city way, way scarier than South Boston ever thought of being lol), Springfield, and Brockton. So, I'm kind of taking liberties with where I know for sure they've been stationed, but just go with it lol For Billy?

**Chapter Six: Give Me Your Grief**

_You can't get mad, 'cause I am not your man  
__It was never my plan to fall in love with you  
__I don't need that stress in my world_

The Wednesday Before Thanksgiving

Everything outside of the nightclub was sort of blue in the moonlight, dark with shadow beyond it and cold every place between. I could hear my friends giggling as they stumbled towards the end of the sidewalk opposite from me. Heading north, leaving me to find my own way back west. Of course, I knew the way. The subway system in Boston is so centralized, it's difficult not to know it like the back of your hand after a while, no matter where you are. But being tipsy, exhausted and only a few street's from Southie's Lower End, well that never helped.

Though City Point was one of the best clubs in the entire county, it also straddled the border of the East and West neighborhoods of South Boston. The East End was so gentrified, it was generally known to be harmless. Yuppies and college kids, mostly. But the West End gave new meaning to 'wrong side of the tracks'. It was so scary over there, that the famed Guardian Angels of New York and Los Angeles* had been called in to patrol the streets at night. But even _they _suffered casualties here on occasion.

As stupid as this whole walking-alone-at-night-while-a-little-inebriated thing probably sounded, I was perfectly capable of handling myself. Or at least, that was what I firmly believed, as every nearly drunk twenty-two year old typically does. But God I was tired. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to keep walking as my nails dug into the leather of my purse in an attempt to distract from the throbbing pain of my heeled-boot clad feet.

'_It's just a few more blocks,' _I reminded myself. _'You're mother taught you to walk through this pain. You can handle a few measly city blocks.' _

Just as I was nearing the corner that would take me to the nearest T station, a figure in the bright moonlight that was streaming through the trees across the street caught my eye. For whatever reason, I stopped dead in my tracks and stared, finding the sight all at once fascinating, somewhat odd and a little scary. It was a man, well built and tall, hands in his pockets as he hunched into the thin leather of his jacket. He was only about two hundred yards away, staring down at one of the many headstones surrounding him in the graveyard.

It was so cold out I could feel my lungs trembling, the muscles in my torso twitching, the goosebumps rising painfully along my arms and legs. But a warmth flooded my chest after a few moments of studying the hardened lines of his face in the eerie blue moonlight. I knew instantly who I was looking at and I was helpless to resist the pull my entire being felt to go and join him.

My shoes clicked over the pavements as I crossed the road and made my way into the graveyard. Everything beyond the gates seemed to take on an ethereal quality. There was a thick calm over the place, a feeling that this ground belonged to no one but God. I couldn't tell whether that feeling sobered me up a little, or only added to my state of fringed reality. Possibly a little of both.

The earth was soft under my feet as I made my way toward him, careful not to lay foot on ground under which a body might be buried. His ears picked up on the sound of rustling grass blades before I even got within a hundred yards of him. Blue-gray eyes glared at me through the moonlight as his neck spun around and his hand instinctively went to rest on the gun at his hip. For a moment neither of us moved and there was nothing but the fog of our breath as it condensed and rose.

"Jesus fucking Christ Shaynan…" His lungs nearly collapsed with relief when he sighed, shaking his head and turning away from me. As I crept closer I could see the cold sweat along his forehead breaking out just before he swiped it away. "What the hell are you doin' here, huh?"

God only knew why he was murmuring. It was one o'clock in the morning and we were in a graveyard, it wasn't like there were too many people around to hear us. Well, none with a pulse anyway.

"I was just walking home and I saw you."

"You were walking home?" His right eyebrow quirked in disbelief. "From South Boston? What, do you have a boat waitin' for you at the Charles?"

"Fine. I was walking to the train so _it_ could take me home."

He didn't even try to hide a once-over of what I was wearing, eyebrow cocked in amusement.

"Alone? In _that_ dress? At this time of night? Are you high or do you actually _want_ to get raped?"

"I'm not high." I smirked, rolling my eyes. "And no one _wants_ to get raped. God, you sound like my dad."

"Just be glad you have one who gives a shit." He grumbled, adjusting his arms to cross over his chest. A moment or two passed between us with some difficulty. Even if I'd been sober, I was sure nothing all at once polite and interesting enough to say would have come to mind.

"Is that who you're here for?" I chanced, pointing towards the gravestone with the pocketed hand in my coat.

"Nah, he's over there somewhere." Billy waved towards an obscure spot a few yards off. "This is my mom."

Peering closer in the dim light, I could see it now.

_Mary Catherine Costigan 1958-2005_

_Beloved Daughter, Sister and Mother_

_God made time, but man made haste_

Above my eyes, I felt the skin of my forehead crumple with heartache. His father in one grave, his mother in another. And he'd already told me before that he had no brothers or sisters. In all the grief my family had caused me over the years, I'd never once thought about what life might be like without any of them. All alone in the world and vulnerable. No home to return to when you had nothing else. No one to run to when things got messy. No one to guide you when you lost your way. What that could feel like, I didn't even have it in me to try and imagine.

Without really thinking about it I reached out beside me, soft fingers lacing through Billy's cold, rough hand. He didn't move at first, but I could feel his muscles lock up with resistance. My heart sank into the depths of my stomach with guilt.

'_Good job,' _I scolded myself silently. _'As if grieving for his dead mother wasn't hard enough, you had to go and make things awkward. Why can't I ever get anything right with him?' _

Figuring I should just let go so we could try to pretend it had never happened, I started letting his hand slip away. But just before I could let go completely, his fingers locked around mine, squeezing with a gratitude and need so deep I could feel it seep through my skin, into my veins and up to my heart. Swallowing nervously, I let my eyes rise to meet his.

"Why are you still here?" He asked softly. I wasn't sure why he was so unwilling to trust me, nor did I have any clue as to why that hesitancy made me want to assure him even more. Between us, I gave his hand a light squeeze in return.

"If you had seen me grieving alone, would you be able to keep walking?" The confidence with which I was able to ask that question surprised me. Whether or not Billy cared about me as deeply as I cared about him, I knew there was _something_ there. Some basic emotional investment in my well being. Just as I had known he would, the man beside me took a deep breath and looked back towards his mother's grave marker, then shook his head no.

"No. No, I guess I wouldn't." Silence followed for just a moment more before, "It's too late for you to be walkin' around in graveyards with guys like me. C'mon, let's get you home." Just as I'd felt his hand warming up, it fell from mine, resting between my shoulder blades as he ushered me towards the gravel path and the main road beyond it.

Our footsteps were the only noise for a while after that, but Billy's nervous gaze darted everywhere, looking for signs of human presence or movement. Clearly, a childhood in the projects had left its mark on him. It wasn't until we were descending the stairs to the Red Line that he eased up enough for me to say anything. Of course, it wasn't exactly ground breaking.

"Are you gunna see me all the way to Cambridge?" I asked, glancing over at him as we jogged down the stairs, around a corner and towards the track that ran towards Alewife.

"That's the plan. Why?" He asked, pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Let me pay for it." I protested, laying a hand on his wallet and stepping between him and the machine. His eyebrows furrowed, nose wrinkling with indignation.

"It's two dollars." He reminded me. "It's really not that big of a deal."

Ignoring him, I turned and started punching in the numbers I'd need for another one way ticket.

"This'll be the last train on the Red Line tonight. I'll get your cab fair back to…wherever it is you live, too. I'm not going to let you cough up money that you don't have to stick your neck out for me."

"Anyone else would. Hell, if I was in your shoes, I probably would."

"Well, thank goodness for both of us, you're not." I told him, handing him the ticket. "Now come on, before we miss this train."

Our legs took us to the platform in a hurry, both of us very well aware that we didn't want to be stuck without a ride in this part of town. Even the taxis didn't like to come around there much. The train pulled in seconds before we got there and we nearly jumped through the doors, laughing in spite of ourselves once we were safely seated from the exhilaration. It was the first time I could remember seeing Billy genuinely smile, holding nothing back. His eyes got lost in crow's feet and wind-reddened cheeks. Just watching him made me feel lit up from the inside out. I figured I'd have to try and get him to smile like that more often.

As the train took off we calmed down, stuffing our hands back into our pockets and stretching out amongst the empty seats. I'd always loved the train. It probably helped that I only got to ride it on special trips into the city and nights out with the girls. But there was something so raw and real and beautiful about the worn down cars, the tired people you always saw riding with you, the graffiti on the walls. It wasn't the Boston I'd been raised in, it was the Boston that had fought and clawed and suffered for survival since its inception. When you rode the subway, you couldn't mask that history or run away from it. But you sure felt apart of it.

"So, I have a question." I turned to Billy and he nodded.

"It's a helluva long ride to Cambridge, shoot."

"You said something back at the graveyard. You asked me if I was high or just wanted to get raped…what did you mean?" I knew he'd just been making fun of my clothes, but it had sounded like there was a thunderstorm of thoughts behind the joke. His lungs filled with a deep breath and he looked away at first, staring out through the windows at the black tunnels and brick walls we passed.

"You ever heard a' victim precipitation theory?"

My face clearly showed that I had not only never heard of it but that I really hadn't been expecting that kind of answer. I'd sort of been hoping more for, _'Well, you looked really nice tonight and I can't stomach the thought of anyone laying a hand on you.'_. Which was childish and immature to try and pull out of someone…but I was half-drunk and I never really thought too clearly around Billy anyway.

"It's the idea that victims, particularly rape victims, initiate their own…_offenses_ by wearing provocative clothing." Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat a bit uncomfortably before going on. "And then there's deviant place theory; you get victimized because you put yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time. You make yourself available to them."

"How much do you want to bet those theories were written by sexually frustrated men?" I quirked an eyebrow, trying not to show how angry the idea that a woman was 'asking for it' made me. After all, no one likes an angry girl. Billy just smirked sardonically.

"I haven't even gotten to Freud's female masochism theory yet."

"You mean the one where we subconsciously seek out danger and violence? That there's some innate desire in all women to be dominated? Yeah, you don't have to go into detail with that one, I'm familiar." I assured him, my tone implying a lack of amusement with the argument.

"Right, of course you are." He chuckled darkly to himself. "I'm sure all that psychoanalytic bullshit comes up in your art classes. What was stunting Van Gogh's emotional growth? Why did it manifest itself in paint? That sort of token analyses, right?"

"That's about right." I nodded, unsure if I was appreciative of his ability to see through the veneer of my boring class work or annoyed with his flippant attitude towards it all.

"Do they ever give you more than just the words?" He asked, "Do they tell you the real thoughts and feelings that went into those theories?"

Looking at him, trying not to burst from all the fascination building up in my veins, I shook my head in silence once more. Where was all this coming from? How did a guy who's entire life rotated on an axis of drugs and guns, of survival and fear, know _any_ of this?

"Freud realized that a female's instinct for masochism was connected to her sensing the male need for dominance. He argued that women only derive pleasure from doing whatever brings pleasure to their partners, even if it means choosing pain. It was because of that, that he believed women to be the stronger gender."

"Emotionally." I tacked on. It was a hard fact to miss when sitting next to someone like Billy, who felt like he could easily be at least twice my size.

"I wouldn't knock it." He offered softly, "Some of the things we do, the stuff I see? I'd give a lot to have my skin be a little thicker now and then."

My head dipped towards him, a frown weighing down my features. He couldn't be serious.

"We were just in a graveyard where both of your parents are buried. You're constantly around blood and addiction and violence. I can see it in your eyes, Billy, you haven't slept properly for weeks. I don't care what the books say, I know I couldn't survive like that. Not the way you seem to be able to."

"Yeah well…it's hard to argue with Freud." He shot back, playing devil's advocate only to avoid all the subjects I was unearthing. It was probably painful enough trying to deal with them, the last thing anyone wanted to do was talk about it too.

"The man did more coke than my Uncle. I'm not sure how much credit I'd give his theories." I smirked, still in disbelief that he'd just rattled all of that psychoanalytic bullshit off. "What the hell were you studying to be in college anyway? A therapist?"

"Psyche one-oh-one is a gen ed requirement. Maybe I paid attention in class. Is that so hard to believe?"

I looked at him for a second, trying to gauge his honesty.

"Most guys who 'paid attention in class' don't end up working for my Uncle." I reminded him quietly.

"Shit happens." Was all I got back. Another handful of moments fell into our laps, bringing nothing but silence and the screeching of subway car tires as they rounded corners and stopped at the occasional station. We were leaving Park Street now, almost out of the city and only one stop away from Kendal, where we'd get off. I could picture the stops above us, having been through them a hundred times. I could see the streets beyond them, dark and freezing cold. I wondered if anyone was in the Commons. Couples star gazing on the grass. Homeless people sleeping on the benches. Cheating husbands driving along the streets that lined the park, headed home to their wives.

"So, what do you think Freud would say about the guy who decides its his responsibility to make sure that that clearly fucked up little girl gets home safely?"

Again, there was an uncomfortable shift from Billy as he tried to get a handle on my ability to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong moment. So what if I wasn't afraid to say the things good little girls should keep to themselves around him? _He_ was the one who'd started talking about all this crap.

"Probably something about my subconscious projection of you as my mother, I dunno." He mumbled, biting his thumbnail nervously while speaking so I had to really work to try and understand what was coming out of his mouth.

"I'm serious." My eyes rolled as we pulled into Government Center, above which sat the majority of the tourist district and my favorite view of the Bay. I was tempted to grab Billy's hand and run up there. Taxi's were easy to find on this side of town, we could walk around aimlessly for as long as we could stand the cold and discuss every facet of psychoanalytic theory while watching the reflection of the moon on the Charles.

The doors closed, whisking my fantasy away with a finality that was almost physically painful. Pouting, I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and slouched the tiniest bit in my seat. If Billy noticed, he didn't let on. But I doubted he had, too engrossed in trying to come up with a good answer to my question.

"I guess," He started eventually, "It's just what I know. It's the role I've been socialized to accept. And maybe, on a subconscious level, it's the assumption that I can protect you better than you could."

"Because you're a man." I finished what he was too polite to say, looking down at my lap, hating how even in the twenty-first century, it was impossible to escape this kind of bullshit.

"And because I probably weigh at least sixty pounds more than you do. And because I'm carrying a gun I know how to use. And because I have it in me to do things you should never have to." He clarified, trying to make up for how sexist it sounded in simpler terms.

"Can I ask you something?" I was still looking down at my thighs, the skin shaking a little as I bounced my heel.

"Yeah." His voice almost cracked and it was only then that I realized how tired he must be. I wondered when the last time was he'd actually slept. Turning to look beside me, I met his gray-blue eyes head on and didn't look away, trying to choose my words carefully for once. For whatever reason, I felt like I really needed this question answered. If he didn't say another word to me for weeks I'd be alright, if he could just answer this truthfully.

"Does it _feel _like a social obligation? Is that all this really is?"

"I"- He was cut off by the screeching of the breaks, the loud announcer's voice that this would be the last stop at Kendal/MIT for the night, the doors opening. Standing, he waited by the doors for me to exit first and then followed in silence. We walked up to the street and started south towards my house, the cold biting into my skin again with such a vengeance that it was difficult to breathe at first.

A few blocks from my street, I tried again for that answer I'd so desperately wanted to hear.

"Billy, I really did want to know"- But he raised a hand before I could finish, silently asking me to stop as his lips pursed a little, the rest of his face taking on that hard and stony look I'd seen before. It was the one he'd been wearing when I snuck up on him at the graveyard, the one I'd first seen at my front door just a few short months ago.

"Look, don't do this okay. Don't make this hard on either of us."

"I wasn't trying to…" Seeing the look on his face, my words trailed off as I realized they would have no effect. Sighing, I felt the same abandoned feeling he'd inspired in me when leaving me alone with the McDonald's wrappers the other night creep under my skin. "I'm not even home yet."

"Yes, you are. Frank's guys are down there watching the house, you'll be fine." When I stood my ground he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, nostrils flaring with a deep sigh. "Shaynan, come on. Don't make me regret doin' the right thing here."

"The right thing?" I nearly choked on the words, eyes widening with disbelief. "The right thing?! You get people addicted to coke, then turn around and shoot their brains out if they can't pay up and you have the nerve to preach to _me_ about _doing the right thing_?"

"Who's orders am I following, Shay?" He reminded me coldly. I felt my hair brush my cheek as I shook my head back and forth.

"You arrogant son-of-a-bitch." Though still facing him, my footsteps were leading me down the street and away from him. "I hope that solid moral center of yours keeps you warm tonight. I really do. You can find your own damn way home."

There was no response but the wind as it whipped between houses and down streets, digging straight into my bone marrow as I walked towards my house, still absolutely livid. At Billy for not giving me the answer I'd wanted. At my brother for treating me like a child. At my Uncle for making this entire situation impossible. At my parents for raising me to be their perfect, little porcelain doll. Most of all, at myself for pushing things with Billy, acting like a child with my brother, loving my Uncle unconditionally, and being addicted to the cushy, beautiful life my parents had built around me.

When I reached my door, I stopped to flick the porch lights off and noticed a run down car parked across the street, a guy with fingerless gloves and a gun on the dash sitting inside. Billy had been right, my Uncle had guys everywhere, which was why he couldn't walk me to my door. Immediately the guilt set in. Could I really blame him for trying to protect me or himself from the wrath that would follow if word got back to Frank?

Unable to keep myself from looking down the street I'd just come from, my eyes strained to find the shadow that lingered just beyond the garish, orange light of the streetlamps. With the knowledge that I really had reached the house safely, the shadow turned and made its way back towards MIT, where there were sure to be buses and taxis, disappearing around the nearest corner.


End file.
